


A Tale of a Tub, Written for the Universal Improvement of Womankind

by notjonathanswift



Category: A Tale of a Tub - Jonathan Swift
Genre: A Strange Lack of Tubs, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fashion & Couture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-02 04:20:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14536512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjonathanswift/pseuds/notjonathanswift
Summary: While walking along the street, Anne meets a strangely dressed man.





	A Tale of a Tub, Written for the Universal Improvement of Womankind

**Author's Note:**

> In writing this I had a certain _Colleague_ point out to me that this work was _unoriginal_ , for by putting Peter in my story I’m writing about _a previously established character which is not my own_ , and a character from a Respected Author at that; by which I assert this is absolutely false. This _Colleague_ should at this point already know that similarities between characters does not mean any thievery has occurred. That both of our characters are named Peter is true, but this is due to the commonality of the name Peter; that name is in fact the 207th most popular men’s name in the United States in 2016, which, considering the millions of people residing in the U.S., amounts to quite a large amount of Peters. The second instance was that my Peter, in a similar fashion to the Respected Author, wore a coat of similar fashion, of which I can hardly be faulted that coats have remained in fashion for centuries. And to the accusation that I have mimicked exactly the _peculiarities_ of the coat’s design is what we in the literary world call an _allusion_ to the Respected Author (a term this _Colleague_ should know); and as most of us in the literary world know, allusion is a high form of both _flattery_ to the author and _mastery_ of literary devices. As this Respected Author has alluded to certain Classical works, so my allusion to his work should be deemed as the highest form of respect. As to the last accusation, that the very genre of my writing—that being Fanfiction—implies that I have taken some aspect of this Respected Author’s work and twisted it to my own use is, again, entirely false. You will find numerous _Original Fiction_ on this and other fanfiction sites, and my work is just one of them. I confess to having known of this Respected Author, but I had not read any of this Respected Author’s work until my _Colleague_ brought these so-called _plagiarisms of mine_ to light; so really, I was not a “fan.” And, as the rest of the word implies, this is entirely fiction. No character in this story represents _anyone_ else in the world, real or literary, nor does any character represent _anything_ else, real or metaphorical. 
> 
> Besides, if this work was fanfiction, it should be lauded for the labor it does for respected works, such as those by the Respected Author. I am highly aware of how us fanfiction writers are regularly spat upon for our works not being of the same _prosial_ level of highly acclaimed authors, along with the accusations of unoriginality that I was previously handed. Yet think, if not for the way our grubby fingers press upon the keys, how would acclaimed and respected authors of worthy talents today know that they are better than us? And so they spit upon us, without knowing that this _spit_ is at fault, along with their wondrous and spellbinding works, in watering the desires of us fanfiction writers to do our very acts of labor. 
> 
> So concludes this introduction. This work had no editor, so any mistakes are my own.

Once upon a time, a young woman, whose name was Anne, was walking along a cobbled road in town when she happened upon a man in a striking coat and an even more striking hat. The coat was so decorated with shoulder-knots, gold lace, silver fringes, and other fine embroidery that many a person stopped in the street to stare upon such a monstrosity, and the length of the hat, that being one upon another upon another, also caught people’s attention, as they waited with anticipation for the man walk under a doorway and get his hat knocked off. 

Anne was not such one of these people; rather, she had previously talked to a man who looked remarkably similar to this current one, and she mistook one for another.

“Hello!” she greeted, stopping this highly decorated man in the street. “You certainly have changed your style of dress since I last saw you.”

The man sniffed and said, “I have never beheld your sight in my life.” 

It was then that Anne realized that this was not the man she knew; but still, peering upon his face, she had to consider they did look extremely similar. “Forgive me,” she said. “It’s just that your faces and your coats look so similar—why, your coat! If his had been intact, I’m sure it would’ve looked just like yours.”

The man had a very sour inkling as to who this similar man was, but said, “If you’ll excuse me, I have to get to my lunch.”

Anne regarded his gut and thought that he must have a lot of drink and carbs indeed. Then, to the man’s surprise, she asked, “May I try your coat on?”

“Excuse me?” he said. “Are you cold? Or do you need to protect your skin from the sun?” When Anne shook her head no, he continued, “Well, then, I have to refuse you.”

“Are _you_ cold or protecting yourself from the sun?” she said. 

“No,” replied the man, “but my Will says this coat is mine, and as it is enshrined to me, I cannot think to give it to you.” 

“This is the problem with men and their coats,” Anne said. “They always listen to certain Williams or Taylors, and their words never mean anything to people like me.” Anne peered at this man’s face closer and said, “Wait a second, are you perhaps Peter? I saw your ad in the paper the other day, calling for insurance for Tobacco-Pipes!” 

“I am the man,” said Peter. 

“Are you not a generous man?” Anne said. “I have heard such whispers of your benevolence and liberality with your talents—by the looks of your coat, I know it to be true! Are you not going to spread your generosity to a woman so in need of a coat in this moment?” 

“What _is_ your need with my coat?” asked Peter. 

“I have been on a private journey of my own, you see,” Anne said. “I was in a family of labor, and we labored day and night to do good work. Well, it may have been good work, but it caused quite a lot of stress and sweat, and I found the only relief to be a small wind that blew our way sometimes and lifted our _spirits_. The wind—this spirit—is what matters; yet when I brought this to my family’s attention, they decided to give me a coat to block off such spirits. Yet their coat was too weak, and so I have travelled amongst other families to find the perfect coat.” 

“I of course sympathize with you, and all women who seem to be continuously dealt blows in life,” Peter said, “but there are very strict words in my Will that this coat is mine.”

Anne eyed Peter’s shoulder-knots, gold lace, silver fringes, and other fine embroidery, and said, “Very strict words indeed.” 

“As it is obvious I cannot give you my coat,” Peter said, “may I offer up any other remedy? I have multiple medicines for worms in the spleen, or I can direct you to one of my Whispering Offices—”

“No, thank you,” Anne said. She wondered how a man who could be so generous in the decorations of his own coat, and so generous in the rituals he offered kindly up to the masses, could not offer the same level of coatness to Anne. “I believe I just need a clothes shop. Perhaps by a woman? Since I cannot trust your Taylors and Williams.”

“Well, a mother of a friend of mine could possibly help you,” Peter said.

“And she is known for her coats?” Anne asked.

“Well, she does very fine work upon the nether—areas—lands—she is quite known for protecting such—regions. She is two streets over—or, no, is that not my friend’s mother but his other female friend . . . They share the same name and near same profession—” Peter paused to collect his thoughts and said, “The mother figure is very good upon, as I said, some cloths, and this other female friend of his—and mine, no less!—is very good at keeping the business together. Observations over the cloth and which have been sold, you know. Very important business.”

“And they are under the same name?” Anne asked. “Which way is their shop?” 

“Well, it is really my friend’s shop,” Peter said. “But they are _highly_ valued employees, do not fear.” 

“They work for your friend,” Anne said, “who I assume is a Taylor or a William?” 

Peter adjusted the hat upon his hat upon his hat. 

Anne sighed, said, “I’ll leave you to your lunch, sir,” and as Peter walked away, contemplated making her own line of coats. 


End file.
